June 17th
by crumpled horned snorkack
Summary: An old but cute Patrick and Charlotte Jane two-shot as a belated fathers day present to all the American (and any other country that celebrates on the 17th) Mentalist fans from Sectumsempress and myself.
1. Chapter 1

_**An old collaboration from Sectumsempress and myself I thought I would edit (with correct names) and resubmit in time for Father's Day. **_

_Sunday June 17th__2001_

Patrick Jane was terrified.

Normally not much could terrify him. But this day certainly had. This day and the tiny form in the crib across the room.

He wasn't sure what to do. The doctor had just left him here with the little person who made him feel terrified and vulnerable and paralysed. Certainly things he had never felt before.

He was going to be a terrible father – he just knew it. Just like his own father. He couldn't even hold his own daughter. He was her father, husband of her mother and yet he couldn't even walk a few steps over to the Tadpole. That's what they had called the baby when they found out about the little surprise since they still hadn't thought of a name.

Tadpole decided to come into the world a bit too early and frightened them all.

Patrick didn't fare as well as he would have liked in the delivery room. His wife sometimes allowed him to hold her hand and brush her hair from her forehead. Other times she banished him to the corner of the room for doing this to her and yelling that she was never sleeping with him ever, ever, ever again.  
His wife was somewhere in the hospital now because there had haemorrhaging afterward. Patrick shuddered at how scary it was to see her eyes roll back into her head and she fell unconscious as their baby was delivered not making a sound.

It was terrifying, having her hand ripped away out of his as a doctor urged him to leave. He remembered how terrible those few hours had been when it had been touch and go with his two precious girls.

So he sat in the hospital waiting room, his face in his hands, positively traumatised and feeling helpless to his wife and child. The other occupants were quite alarmed by the young man's antagonized demeanour.

A midwife called 'Amber' who looked very much like Victoria Beckham sat down beside him. She was pretty but couldn't hold a candle to his wife, in his opinion.  
This nurse began shamelessly flirting with him as soon as he arrived at the hospital, despite the fact he was here for his _pregnant wife._

"What's on your mind, Mr…Jane?" Amber said glancing at her clipboard, as if she hadn't studied it.  
"Honestly, my wife who is being kept from me," Patrick said.  
Amber pursed her lips.

"Soon she'll be fine," Amber said as if this were a disappointment. "You know this isn't the best time for you to see her. Let's say that we did allow you to see her. You, being the compassionate lover that you probably are would not be able to handle seeing her like that. So, I need to get some basic questions about your wife."

Patrick sighed.  
"Um, full name, please?"  
"Angela Ruskin Jane."  
"Blood type?"  
"AB negative."  
"Age?"  
"25."  
"Two years older than me!" Amber said brightly but in a conversational manner.  
Could someone please slap this woman?

Luckily a doctor came over and told Patrick that his wife was doing well and his baby was small but perfectly healthy. A perfect baby girl. He smiled, even though she thought it would be a boy he had been secretly hoping for a girl. A tiny little Angela with wavy dark hair, translucent pale skin and rosy cheeks that he could spoil and protect from boyfriends.

But now he was frozen, staring warily at the pink blanket like a grenade was wrapped in it. She was cooing happily to herself, making little noises and experimenting waving her little arms about. Patrick remembered rolling his eyes at fathers when their child was brought to life - how ridiculous, how foolish they seemed to him. And yet here he was, nervous, scared and completely paralysed. He finally understood why this feeling was so powerful that it proved frightening. Patrick finally walked over to her and looked at her for the first time since she had been clean of all the blood.

She stared back fascinated by him. She already had Angela's lovely sapphire eyes and pale hair that resembled his. The poor girl was going to have some rather difficult hair days.  
"Hello," he said nervously and felt ridiculous. This formal greeting was something he said to a stranger at the door.

She studied him curiously and raised her little arms and flailed them about, as if reaching for his face, before settling to grab a tiny fistful of his shirt.

He watched with amusement and fascination as his little girl clung at his shirt.  
"You're so _little_," Patrick whispered in awe looking at her little fingers. His gaze moved to her face, and she stared back at him with curious, impatient eyes.  
There were glistening trails of tears upon his daughters face and he gently brushing his thumb across her warm, crimson-tinged cheek.

"Hi Tadpole," he said brushing his hand lightly over her hair.  
The baby was getting impatient, a frown gracing her features. She scrunched up her nose and Patrick could see tears forming in her little eyes.

"Don't cry," he said to her.  
He couldn't help himself, he had been unable to stand watching those beautiful sapphire eyes tear up ever since he had been married. He tentatively picked her up awkwardly but with extreme care as if she were made of the finest glass and was amazed at how natural and instinctive it felt to hold her tiny body against his chest.

She stopped crying and her pretty eyes scanned the room curiously, fascinated by this new world. She looked back at him with a curious expression that probably matched his own. At least they had something in common. She was the most beautiful baby. He knew that's what all parents said about their baby but it was just true his was.

The baby curled her fingers around the collar of his shirt as she stretched her tiny body and her little mouth yawned forming a perfect 'O' as her light purple eyelids closed and she snuggled against his chest completely content and trusting.  
She was such a little miracle. How could something so beautiful and wonderful come from him?

He laughed softly and the baby's eyes snapped open alarmed at the noise. A flicker of annoyance shot from her eyes and she looked more like her mother than ever. So much so he actually recoiled slightly from her annoyed glance at interrupting her sleep.

"Sorry baby," he said kissing her forehead lightly.

His daughter dozed off again soundly in his arms and he intently watched the little life him and his wife had made. They had made a family. Patrick's heart was filled with pride and love and a fierce desire to protect and cherish this form of beauty and purity and perfection forever.

Then Posh Spice came into the room and interrupted them.  
"Quite the Father's Day present, huh?" she said tapping on her clipboard.  
Patrick was so wrapped up by his love for his new little family that he couldn't even try to be angry at this woman anymore. The world was too beautiful now.  
"Yes she is."


	2. Chapter 2

_Friday June 17th__2005_

A loud clatter of something hitting the floor echoed from downstairs and woke Charlotte Jane.  
On exciting milestones in the year, most little girls would be up at a ridiculous hour of the morning jumping on her exhausted parent's bed.  
But the Janes were not a normal family. And their daughter was no exception.

Charlotte had always loved her sleep. As a baby, her parents friends were so jealous of their baby who slept all the time – up to the point where her parents would wait impatiently by the nursery for her to wake up so they could play with her (and sometimes even 'accidentally' dropping a saucepan or coughing loudly by her door to expedite the process).

So it wasn't surprising that it was Charlotte's parents that were the ones who woke her on her fourth birthday. At least it had been accidental unlike last Christmas where _they_ were the ones jumping on _her_bed excitedly at five thirty in the morning telling her to get up because it was snowing.  
Together they dragged her comatose body downstairs and the photos from Christmas had her in her pyjamas looking half asleep while her parents were wide awake and bright with excitement all wrapped up in scarves, mittens and beanies cuddling her disgruntled little form.

Charlotte rolled over in her bed and nestled further into her quilt hugging her bear tightly. She could get a few more minutes sleep as her parents were busy making pancakes which is what they (attempted) to cook for her every birthday.

They must have started cooking them at 5am. There were bangs and crashes and yells, laughter cut off quickly by them shushing one another before dissolving into quiet giggles. Charlotte was at a loss as to how she had managed to sleep through all the noise beforehand and was wondering when the smoke alarm would go off.

Charlotte sighed and got out of bed and looked at her clock on the wall. She was still learning how to tell time but there was warm June sunlight pouring in from her window so she knew it was a reasonable hour at least.

She carefully put her fluffiest socks on and pulled her quilt neatly over her bed arranging her pillow and stuffed toys artistically. Her mother and father felt slightly intimidated by Charlotte's tidiness and intelligence. Their daughter made their four year old selves feel inferior. Especially since their bed sheets and clothes were all tangled up over their bedroom.

Her hesitant footsteps hit the stairs and when she took her time, she didn't need anyone to help her make her way down but she had to be quiet because Patrick would scoop her up right away upon hearing her before she could even put her hand on the banister. And she felt perfectly capable of walking down the stairs without her father. She was _four_ now.

It was a long and tedious process and she nearly slipped twice, clinging to the banister but Charlotte finally made it downstairs and her eyes sparkled with this accomplishment she had achieved all by herself.  
She walked down the hallway towards the noise and went into the kitchen.

There were her parents splattered with pancake batter and flinging the sticky stuff at each other from wooden spoons. The kitchen was a bomb site with an array of mixing bowls and spoons and fry pans and batter dripping from everywhere (a drop fell off the ceiling onto Charlotte's nose. The _ceiling,_for heaven's sake).

Patrick was about to launch another attack on his wife who seemed to have the upper hand in this battle when he saw Charlotte standing in the doorway rubbing her eye sleepily and then paused mid-yawn, her bright wide eyes taking in the appalling scene.

There she was. The Tadpole. Charlotte Anne Jane. The two blue lines on the pregnancy test. The flashing heartbeat on the screen. The little baby that had him wrapped around her little finger from day one.  
Now his baby was four years old and walking down the stairs by herself (how had he not heard her?).

He was so mesmerised at how beautiful his adorable little girl had become that Angela took advantage of his lack of defence by flinging pancake mixture from her spoon that hit the side of his face. Charlotte was shocked (and slightly impressed) at how much mess her parents could generate from a simple task as making pancakes. It was worse than last year which had been horrific enough.

"Happy Birthday baby," Angela said brightly kissing the batter off her nose and trying to take Charlotte in her arms. Charlotte squirmed away not wanting her batter-covered mother to hug her until she was cleaned up. These were her favourite princess pyjamas.

This resulted in amusement for Patrick and Angela as they chased Charlotte around the house for cuddles as she kept yelling; "Mummy, Daddy! This is not funny," as her little legs ran. She ended up locking and barricading herself in the linen closet.

Patrick managed to coax her out eventually after saying that they wouldn't hug her until they changed.  
"Promise?" she said seriously from in the closet, holding her pinky finger up and curling it, knowing that her father would be doing the same thing outside.  
"Promise," he said sincerely. This was enough for Charlotte because her dad _never_ broke his promises.

She had the immense pleasure of hosing off her messy parents on the balcony with the garden hose as a form of revenge and so their reign of destruction could be limited to one area of the house.

After her parents had changed, Charlotte opened her presents and her first ever bike. She knew that she was getting a bike but put on her best surprised face. She knew because she had fallen asleep to the familiar sound of her parent's laughter as they tried to assemble it and then wrapped the difficult item using five different kinds of coloured paper.  
_They don't need to wrap it,_she had thought in bed the night before as she listened to them. But why spoil their fun?

The morning consisted of Charlotte enduring countless photos and many hugs and kisses, Angela drove to McDonalds to get pancakes (their ones hadn't turned out).  
"I promise they'll turn out next year," Patrick said gently brushing the knots from Charlotte's long golden hair. Charlotte nodded because she could always trust her father's promises.

But that was the first promise to his daughter that Patrick Jane ever broke because he wouldn't spend Charlotte's fifth birthday flinging pancake mixture at his lovely angel as they tried to be quiet as not to wake their sleeping princess.

He would spend it alone in a hospital with a big red smiley face.

**I'm sorry. Please don't kick us out of the fandom. **


End file.
